Last Bite: A Novel of Culinary Romance (12 page)

“Oh, yes. I know it well. They do such a fine job. And the facilities are remarkable.”

“I was very lucky to go there. I couldn’t afford it, but the Irish government gave me a scholarship, no strings attached. It’s why I do so many demonstrations for Irish products. To pay back, you know.” Oh, Lord. The man’s a saint.

Carol took a business card out of her purse and stretched her arm across Sully to hand it to him. “I do prep for the more experienced chefs who give demos. I freelance, so I can be available any time of the day. Of course, I need some notice since I am very much in demand.” She then gave me a smug look.

Oh please! Professional competition from Carol doesn’t concern me in the least, but fashion competition was approaching our table. “It’s good to see you out of the kitchen, Danny,” chirped Kim the greeter.

“Thanks, love.” He slipped his arm around her waist. “Have you met everyone?”

She looked at Sally. “Yes, I have, thank you.”

“How’s it been going out here?” Danny asked.

“Totally amazing. Everyone seems to be having a blast. Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked, and I swear to God she bent over. And there it was: China.

“Thanks, no, love.”

The minute Kim left, Mary put her arm on the back of my chair and tugged on my shawl so that it slipped off my shoulders. I tried to kick her under the table, but she had anticipated it and moved her legs well out of my way. Danny, however, moved his toward mine. “Great dress. I think I’ll pray for rain.”

“I brought an umbrella,” I said. He laughed and gave my
now bare shoulder a little squeeze. I did not take it personally, because in the course of the next fifteen or so minutes a number of scantily clad women approached the table to say hello to him, and they all got squeezes on one part of their anatomy or another. I would have bet anyone that a lot more happened in the kitchen walk-in than food storage.

Sally asked Danny about the Irish products, and he really lit up as he talked about the small farmhouse cheeses and the special feed for the pigs that gave up their lives for the bacon. He talked about the salmon fishing, a passion of Sally’s, and they compared fishing stories. When there was a moment’s break in the animated conversation, Mary said, “Danny, the Chihuly glass up front is totally amazing. Did you find it in New York?”

“For truth, it was a gift from the artist.”

“Wow! Do you know him?” Mary was noticeably impressed.

“A bit. I met him in Ireland. He and my uncle used to hang out there together. The glass was a gift for the restaurant opening. He’s a real generous guy.” Danny turned his head to both sides, looking for someone. “He’s here someplace.”

“Are you serious? Where?” Mary sat up tall and looked around the room.

“I’m not sure, but he’ll be easy to spot with that curly hair. Would you like me to introduce you?”

“Absolutely!”

“Okay. We’ll find him.” Danny stood up and walked around the table to Sally and shook her hand. “It’s great to meet you, Sally. The kitchen is beside themselves that you’re here. If it’s not a bother, before you go, could you pop out and say hello to them?”

“I’d love to.”

He said good-bye to Carol and George and then walked over to Mary. “You ready to look for Chihuly?”

“I’m right behind you,” Mary said as she stood.

Danny put his hand on my back. “You coming, Casey?”

“No thanks.” I might have gone, but I knew it would make George happy, so I stayed. Fortunately, Sully stayed as well and did her best to engage George and Carol in conversation. Carol was still making food piles. I was pretty sure she was slipping some of them into her purse.

“What do you do, George?” Sully asked.

“I’m an agent,” he answered without looking at her.

“Literary or otherwise?”

George put his arm on the back of Sally’s chair and gave Sully that smug look that just grates on me. “I represent Sally.”

It was probably imperceptible unless you knew her well, but Sully began to throw her head back to laugh and then must have realized it was not a joke; she coughed instead. She looked at me as if to say, “He can’t be serious,” then turned to George and said, “Great gig. Do you handle other clients as well?”

“Not now.”

“Oh. But you did before? Who were some of your clients?”

“I prefer to keep my client list confidential.” Even I knew that was bullshit. Agents build their businesses by dropping names.

Sully kept plugging. I didn’t know if she was really interested or just trying to make conversation, but I was dying to hear the details of George Davis. “A friend of mine has an agency here in New York. I’m sure you know of him—Marc Friedman?”

“I have only been working out of New York for a while, so I haven’t had time to socialize.”

“Where were you before?”

George’s smug demeanor was gradually slipping, and a look of discomfort was replacing it. I thought I saw sweat running down the side of his face. Without responding to Sully’s question,
he looked across the room and said, “Oh there’s . . .” I forget the name he used, because I’d never heard it. Sully had to turn around, but I was facing the direction he was looking so I saw his hand deliberately swipe a Mintini, sending it flying toward Sully. She jumped up quickly, but the green drink was already running down the front of her dress. George said, “Sorry,” but that damnable smug look said otherwise.

“Let’s get that washed off right away, Sully,” I said. “I’ll get some club soda and meet you in the ladies’ room.” I gave George a nasty stare as I stood, but he wasn’t looking at me.

In the ladies’ room, as I was less than successfully trying to remove the green from her dress, Sully said, “Who is that George character besides the guy on the far end of the evolutionary chart? He’s all bullshit, Casey.”

I was kneeling, so I looked under the two stall doors to make sure we were alone before responding. “I know. Nothing about him makes any sense. I’m pretty sure he knocked that drink over on purpose.”

“Of course he did. He was obviously uncomfortable with my questions. It’s not my business, but it’s hard to believe that someone like Sally would let a sleaze like him represent her.”

“I know. He’s definitely not of her class.”

“Class? He’s not even her species. Is Carol his sister?”

I looked up at her, surprised by her question. No one had ever mentioned their being related. “Why do you ask?”

“Didn’t you notice how much they look alike? Same shaped face. Same Slavic features. The same unfriendly, beady eyes that never look directly at you.”

“Come to think of it, they do look alike.”

“Mary to the rescue!” my cousin announced, marching in holding up a small vial of extra-strength spot remover. “When
I got back to the table, Sally said you might need this. Let me do that, Casey. You should never travel without spot remover. How’d this happen? Did Carol throw a drink at you?”

“Close.” Sully told her what had happened and then suggested she sit as far away from him as possible if she planned to ask him any questions.

“He left. Carol did too. Sonya and Mae came back as soon as they did.” She stood up and admired her work on the dress. “There. Good as new.” Sully thanked her and said she’d better get back to the party. As she was walking out the door, she said, “Watch out for that guy. Seriously.”

“What’s Sally doing with him, anyway?” Mary asked, handing me her lipstick and telling me I needed to put some on.

“Good question.”

“Maybe he makes her a lot more money than she was making before.”

Even though I always told Mary everything, I also always kept Sally’s confidences. I was careful not to reveal the little Sally had told me about George. “Be real. Sally already has a lot of money. She gives tons of it away to charity. Besides, she doesn’t care about expensive jewelry or yachts, that kind of stuff, so I don’t see why the money would matter. I can tell you one thing though: there’s not enough money in the world to get me to work with him.” I shuddered just thinking about it. “By the way, did you meet Chihuly?”

“Yes indeed. Talk about charming, and he is
so
talented! He took my name to put on the invite list for a private party before his next New York show.”

“You are amazing, Mary. You want something, you make it happen.”

“Speaking of making things happen. That Danny’s pretty
hot.” She widened her eyes.

“
And
he takes full advantage of it,” I noted. “Did you see the women hanging all over him? And he seemed pretty cozy with greeter Kim. Tell me he’s not a meadow vole?” Mary and I had read an article in the Sunday
Times
about the sexual habits of voles. Prairie voles were monogamous; meadow vole males mated with many females and then wandered off to be alone. My guess was that Danny O’Shea was a meadow vole.

“Yeah, well remember: one little gene injection in the head was all it took to turn meadow voles into faithful prairie critters.”

B
EFORE WE LEFT
O
RAN
Mor, Sally, Sonya, Mae, and I went out to the kitchen. It was always such a good feeling to watch Sally as she walked among the young chefs, asking them about themselves and telling them to keep up the good work. Most likely, many were chefs because of her, and you could see how thrilled they were to meet her.

While Sally was signing the chefs’ battered cookbooks, splattered aprons, and sweaty hats, Sonya, Mae, and I were having a look at some of Danny’s menus.

“We change the menu every day. Some items we keep because people keep asking for them.” He was standing behind me looking over my shoulder with his hand on my bare back. I wished I had brought my shawl, because his touch was making me uncomfortably tingly. Well, nicely tingly and uncomfortable that I felt so. I would have been perfectly comfortable with it if I hadn’t seen him fondling bare female backs all over the restaurant all night.

“Which ones in particular?” Sonya asked.

“There’s this great lamb dish we serve that people love.”

“Do you have a recipe for it?” I asked, turning so that my
back was away from his hand. Chefs don’t always have exact recipes as they appear in cookbooks. Their versions are often just sketchy guides.

“Not for the lamb. We’ve all done it so often, we don’t need to write it down. But you could come and watch me do it, if you like. We don’t do lunch on Saturdays, so you could come in the morning and I’d have time to work with you.”

“Can you do that, Casey?” Sonya never asked me to work on Saturdays, but we did need to get Danny’s shows finalized. And I knew she knew that I wouldn’t be hanging out with Richard.

“Sure, that’s fine,” I told her, then turned to Danny. “How’s ten o’clock?”

“Anytime you want, love.” He grinned at me, and I had the most insane feeling of wanting to stick my tongue out at him.

He walked us to the kitchen door, put his hands on my arms from behind, and said, “See you Saturday. If you need
anything
beforehand just call.” He emphasized the “anything,” and if I could have balanced on one Jimmy Choo, I would have kicked him in the shin.

Mary and Mae decided to stay at the party, but the rest of us left. Sonya shared a taxi with Sally and me back to the hotel, and we talked a bit about Italy.

“You know, I really am getting excited,” I said, meaning it. “Are we flying over together? You two are going to put me in a center seat, aren’t you?” I was already sitting between them in the back seat of the taxi.

“You and I are going together,” Sonya answered.

“I’m going to go over a few days earlier to stop in London,” Sally said. Peter had given Sally a London flat near Harrods for her fiftieth birthday. She thought it was the best gift ever, and she went as often as she could.

“Lucky you. Just for fun or do you have work there?”

“I’m going over to speak to a real estate agent about selling the flat.”

Sally loved that flat, loved London. I wondered if she was selling because it
had
been a gift from Peter and she wanted to erase whatever the unhappy memory was. I thought I should see if she wanted to talk more about that unhappy memory. I was pretty sure she didn’t want to discuss the “why” in front of Sonya, so I waited until we were alone at the hotel to bring it up again.

“I need the money, Casey.”

I tried not to look as stunned as I was. Selling London wasn’t about Peter; it was about money. How could she have financial problems? Maybe Mary was right about Sally needing George to help her make more money. “Is that why you’ve hired George? So he’ll bring in more money?”

“Huh!” she said, throwing her head back. “He’s why I need the money.”

“Sally, what the hell is going on?”

“He has something I want, and I’m willing to pay for it.”

“My God, Sally! What are you saying?” Of course, I knew what she was saying, but it was so unbelievable that I wanted it spelled out.

“Just that. So now you know why such a repulsive person is in our lives.”

“Wait a minute, Sally. I don’t really know. What does he have?”

“I don’t want to tell you that now.”

“You don’t by any chance have a crack baby, do you?”

Sally laughed so hard it made me laugh, and neither of us could talk for a while. Then she said, “Let’s go to bed. We both
have an early morning.”

“But I need to know more about this George stuff. I’m worried about you.”

She gave me a hug and said, “I know you are, but you don’t have to be. I know what I’m doing, and I know you’ll keep this just between the two of us.
Sogni d’oro
.”

I wondered if she did know what she was doing. Right now it seemed as though the only gold in her wish of “golden dreams” was going to George.

Wavin’ my heart goodbye.
—The Flatlanders

F
riday morning, Sally and I sent for a room-service breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, assorted breakfast breads, one side of blueberry pancakes to share, and the
New York Times
. She gave me the crossword puzzle and took the first section of the paper for herself. Even though we had eaten an embarrassingly large number of delicious appetizers the night before, we had never really had dinner, so we were both hungry. I guess the kitchen couldn’t imagine two people eating all that food, because the waiter wheeled in the table and set out three place settings. I had a million George questions that had kept me awake most of the night, but as soon as I brought George up, Sally made it clear that she wouldn’t discuss it further. Then she looked at me over the top of her reading glasses and brought up a topic of her own.